


Love and Christmas in Wartime

by Lisacreature



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Forbidden Love, M/M, Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5566162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisacreature/pseuds/Lisacreature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and Arthur are soldiers on leave for Christmas and so they spend their Christmas break at the Kirkland family home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Christmas in Wartime

**A Christmas in Wartime**

The rain pelted down onto the grey streets of London, it was a fine but persistent rain which slowly but surely dampened everyone’s spirits. Alfred watched glumly as the resident Londoners marched by the pub, their faces tired but determined, their clothes patched together and littered with stains. Alfred recalled the words of his instruction manual that was given to him before he arrived in London:

_‘If British civilians look dowdy and badly dressed, it is not because they do not like good clothes or know how to wear them. All clothing is rationed and the British know that they help war production by wearing an old suit or dress until it cannot be patched any longer.’_

Indeed many a time Alfred read and reread his instruction manual as if it were a foreign language phrasebook. The manual though handy in a tight spot, could not fully explain the wacky British currency, Alfred often asked himself why these Brits kept it! He wagered it was only to confuse foreigners into giving up more money than needed.

Oh how he missed his home back in California, he missed his Father’s ranch with the cattle kicking up dust clouds across the sandy planes. He missed the harsh burning, summer sunshine that cooked the skin of his back. Heck, he even missed his Grandpa’s mutterings of the ‘good old days’. But, after months on campaign in Sicily and then Naples he was finally allowed leave for Christmas but alas he would not be home for Christmas. Alfred glanced down at the handwritten and crumpled letter written by his dear Mother and began to read the neat handwriting:

_My Dear Alfred,_

_I hope you are doing well and are giving those Nazi’s a good beating. I must admit that though you write to us as frequently as you can manage (which I am forever grateful for) your words are so vague that I cannot tell if you’re writing from your barracks or in a medics tent._

_Oh my poor boy, we all miss you so much but we are all so proud of you and your courage has inspired many of the young children in the neighbourhood, even Mrs Beaton from the Church committee asked how you were doing! In fact last week the Reverend Lovejoy dedicated his sermon to you brave boys overseas, it brought your brother and I close to tears._

_Matthew is doing well in school and he got another A in his French speaking test, but he is determined to join you in battle, I have told him that he is too young to fight but he refuses to listen to me, I think if you were to write him another letter then he might change his mind. Grandpapa is still hobbling about around the stables, yesterday I caught him trying to mount onto one of the horses, he kept on talking about joining the cavalry!_

_By the way, I saw that sweet girl Josephine Baker the other day and she asked how you were doing, I told her that you were well and that you were in Italy giving those Italians a lesson. I must say she is blossoming into a beautiful young lady, I would be so pleased to have her as my daughter-in law, and speaking of women I want you to be careful out there I read a pamphlet the other day about the dangers of enemy spies seducing young boys like yourself. So be careful! I will send you a copy of the pamphlet._

_It’s a shame that you won’t be with us for Christmas but I promise you that when you return home after this war I will cook you a grand feast_ _with all the trimmings to count for all the Christmas’s, Thanksgivings and Birthdays that you will have missed. Do you have anywhere to stay for Christmas? I’m sure those English could spare some Christmas turkey for you boys, after all you are fighting for them -_

His Mother’s letter carried on for another two pages but only revealing small snippets of boring gossip. Alfred sighed and rubbed his tired eyes but her last words from the letter remained stubbornly imprinted in his mind’s eye, _‘we love you, our brave soldier’_.

What would they think of their brave little soldier if they knew…

“Well your face looks like a wet weekend!” said Arthur as he strolled into the pub.

Alfred raised his tired eyes to his friend, comrade and companion, the young man’s dirty blonde hair was shaggy and untamed, and now worsened from his typical native country’s weather and perhaps a few bomb disturbed sleepless nights. However, his eyes and his smile still shined bright, just and only for Alfred.

“Two bitters please,” Arthur asked politely to the ageing landlord who was leaning precariously on the counter.

Alfred could sense Arthur’s cool, pond green eyes staring at him intensely. A heavy clonk onto the bar counter indicated the arrival of the warm, half pint bitters. Arthur sifts the coins out of his pocket and puts it into the palm of the landlord. Alfred finally faces Arthur, the Englishman’s face was painted with concern. Alfred offered him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder, he left his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, his thumb lightly stroking the rough uniform before slipping his hand away.

“Just got a letter from back home,” said Alfred, waving the pages weakly in his hand.

“Bad news?”

Alfred shook his head, his fringe falling over his eyes, “Nothing bad no…It’s just that I miss home. This will be my first Christmas away from home.”

Alfred took a big gulp of his warm bitter, the drink certainly lived up to its name and his face scrunched up into a cringe, he shook his head violently before taking a careful sip. Arthur bumped him with his shoulder in a sign of care and affection, though he meant well Alfred would have preferred a hug, but in a London pub surrounded by troops from Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and even a few from South Africa and the United States, not to mention the staunchly moral locals, two soldiers hugging would only bring trouble. A long pause stretched out between them, anyone watching them would have thought them to be two strangers just sharing a bar. Arthur coughed lightly behind his hand, his shoulders shuddering from the weight of his developing cold.

“I-I-ahem! I will be going to my grandparents house in the countryside for this Christmas, if you would like to y-you could stay with us,” said Arthur.

Alfred stared at him with shocked blue eyes, his strong arms twitched, itching to wrap them around Arthur in a bear hug. But again social conventions and morals oppressed his desire to show Arthur his happiness, gratitude and love for him. Instead he allowed a big toothy grin to form and gave Arthur an affectionate slap on the back, just between his two shoulder blades.

“You don’t need to whack me, I’m not choking!” Arthur spluttered, a deep red blush creeping up his freckled cheeks.

Alfred kept his hand on Arthur’s back for another few seconds, probably still too long than normally expected and then allowed his hand to drop to his side.

“Thanks Artie! I would love to come!”

Arthur looked back at him with a flabbergasted expression, “If you keep calling me Artie I’ll have you sleep in the stables!”

Alfred guffawed with laughter, “I’ll be just like Jesus!”

“That’s blasphemy!”

The two soldiers laughed and chatted together for another hour, but their euphoria was cut short abruptly when the alarm was raised to flee to the closest bomb shelters. Alfred ran out of the pub, along with Arthur, outside onto Mitcham Road where just around the corner was the community shelter. Everyone was calmly, in single file, marching into the shelter, only the children were excited for the dogfight above whilst the parents appeared more fearful of the bombs that would accompany the rain.

Once inside, Alfred made sure to sit beside Arthur, the shelter was packed which meant that their legs were brushing together. Their temporary shelter was dark and damp and the smell of mould and unwashed bodies perfumed the air. In the gloomy darkness everyone kept quiet as they listened intensely as the war for the skies over London played out above their heads. Suddenly Alfred felt Arthur’s smaller hand creep to his own, their pinkie fingers hooking together creating a small bond, as if like a telegraph line sending one another warmth and reassurance. Arthur had gone through this horror before. Alfred recalled Arthur telling him his family’s near death experience. The Kirkland family, Arthur’s parents and four brothers all once lived in London in a simple end terrace house. However on the 29th December 1940 a German bomb exploded two houses down from them, Arthur’s family had been in their garden shelter but their home had been reduced to a mound rubble. Arthur and his three older brothers joined the military the following day, whilst his parents and younger brother, Peter, decided to flee London to Arthur’s grandparents family farm in Hertfordshire.

Alfred grasped Arthur’s slightly shaking hand whilst the ground faintly shook as if, like a boat, was riding the shock waves from the explosions.

After an hour the air raid warden, wrapped smartly in his black uniform entered the shelter announcing that the coast was clear for them to leave. The elderly shakily wandered out into the daylight, they were then followed by mothers with children who were eager to collect shrapnel and other souvenirs. Arthur reluctantly released Alfred’s hand that he had been gripping tightly. They walked out of the shelter tensely, the air outside felt heavy with devastation and the smell of gunpowder and burning wood wafted along the street like a lazy summer cloud. The pub they had been sitting in was now burning with hot angry flames that licked the bare brick walls. The firemen and women worked desperately to kill the fire, the water gushing out of their hose like a waterfall. Alfred saw out of the corner of his eye the elderly landlord looking calmly on as his home burned, it was only when he looked closer that he noticed the blood slowly dripping out from his ears which the medic beside him calmly dabbed at with a wet cloth.

Alfred and Arthur did not pause to watch the battle to regain normality and so carried on walking down the road back to their shared barracks. The memory of each other’s hands sinking into the flesh of their palms.

 

___

 

 The blackout spread across London in a blink of an eye and by four in the afternoon the city was in pure darkness as if the shadowy cloak of the Grim Reaper was sheltering the city. The bombs did not come that night. Alfred sat on his bottom bunk bed, the mattress was itchy and thinly packed with straw, his parchment coloured pillow lay limply across his lap. Alfred cradled his face in his calloused hands and he eagerly watched Arthur write his letter to his family back in Hertfordshire. The old and bitten pencil flew across the thin sheets of paper and with a flourish of his pencil the letter was finished and was then tucked away in a envelope.

“I will post it in the morning,” said Arthur.

And so early the next morning Arthur snuck out of the barracks and pushed the slim envelope into the red post box. The morning air was heavy with a damp fog but the streets of London continued to pump commuters across the city. Arthur turned his back on the post box, shoved his cooling hands into his deep coat pockets and walked back to the barracks to find Alfred.

Another two days later saw Alfred and Arthur sitting beside each other reading Arthur’s Mother’s handwriting. The letter was short and to the point but nonetheless warm with happiness:

_Dear Arthur, Of course your friend can stay with us for Christmas! I’m afraid I can’t cook up a luxurious feast that he may be used to but I will try my best. Your Father will pick you up from the usual place._

_Love, Mum_

_P.S. Tell your friend to bring his rationing card with him._

“Well it looks like your catching the train with me on Friday,” said Arthur.

The rest of the week flew by just like a Spitfire and soon enough Alfred and Arthur found themselves at London Liverpool Street train station patiently waiting for their train to arrive. They were standing on platform nine and just as instructed they were dressed up in their smart uniforms. Alfred found the whole uniform rule embarrassing as he was often on the receiving end of intense stares. The dames were alright though, they would laugh at his jokes and compliment his dancing skills particularly the jitterbug. He never went further than that though, not because of his disapproving Mama back home but because of Arthur. They had met at a dance party down at Victoria Community Hall and every soldier British or foreign soldier attended (unless they were on duty), the American and Canadians were the most popular dance partner choices amongst the local girls. Alfred must have danced with at least ten different girls and kissed perhaps six of them, he was a young man after all. They were all nice and pretty, and tough too. But when Alfred laid eyes on Arthur he felt his whole world stop and he swore that Arthur was glowing in the dark dance hall. Alfred had been so nervous that he had to drink another beer before he could approach him, needless to say Alfred struggled to come up with any meaningful conversation, but they managed to exchange names and a few pleasantries. Although Alfred ran the risk of sounding like a panty-waist but the night they first met felt like…fate?

“Oi Alfred!”

Alfred shook his head and looked down at Arthur, his face one of concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Course I am Artie!”

Arthur grimaced at the nickname but didn’t complain.

Suddenly the loud whistle of train approaching caught their attention and they both watched as the old steam engine crawled into the station, it’s red painted carriages was faded and splattered with dirt and even around some of the windows was peeling off entirely. The train had seen better days, but then again so had the rest of the country, no matter where Alfred looked both in buildings and in people, they had all seen better days.

“This is ours,” said Arthur, nodding his head towards the old train.

They both boarded the train and found a secluded compartment to huddle down in. The carriage stank of tobacco, probably permanently ingrained into the carpets from past puffing commuters. Alfred stared out onto the rest of the station, a woman stood stoically as she gently rocked her pram, the pram was designed to keep babes safe from gas attacks, but it resembled more of a portable oven than a pram.

Soon enough the train awoke with a yawn and slowly began its journey and eventually managing to gain enough speed so that the window became more like a continuous moving picture, just without the intermittent news broadcasts. Towns and villages blurred together and scenes appeared almost frozen in time as the train raced by, a horse and cart appeared as if like a momentary painting before being replaced by fields or woodland.

“I can’t wait to have a nice cup of tea when I get home,” Arthur moaned, ever since Alfred met him he would always complain about the quality of the tea, even when he was in London.

“I miss coffee!” Alfred whined.

“What’s wrong with the coffee here?”

“I don’t know, maybe your more evolved for tea drinking?”

They both burst out into fits of laughter causing them to receive strange looks from nearby passengers. An hour passed by until the train arrived at their destination. The station was a small and simple Victorian building. The green paint around the window frames was withering away whilst the bench that sat isolated on the platform had probably seen all the elements that England could throw at it, but it appeared determined to live out its days for its original purpose.

Arthur pulled Alfred out of the train, stumbling clumsily like a pair of drunks onto the platform.

“There he is!” Arthur shouted out and waving his hand dramatically towards a figure standing beside a horse led hay wagon, probably from the last century. The man stood in some smart yet mud splattered black trousers with a blue and white striped shirt that were tucked into his trousers. The man appeared to be a businessman stranded in the middle of nowhere, heck he even had a respectable bicycle handle bar moustache!

“Arthur your still alive I see!” Arthur’s Father chuckled and patted him on the shoulder affectionately.

Arthur just smiled weakly. “Father I would like to introduce you to my friend, this is Alfred Jones,” said Arthur gesturing for Alfred to step forward.

“A pleasure to meet you sir,” said Alfred and he offered his hand in greeting.

Mr Kirkland glanced down at Alfred’s exposed hand. Thankfully he shook Alfred’s waiting hand and even offered a small smile.

“Likewise Mr Jones. Arthur has told me so much about you.”

The journey back to Arthur’s was long, mainly because they were going along ancient, winding roads. Alfred and Arthur sat together behind Mr Kirkland who steered the cart carefully around the pot holes and muddy puddles that littered their path. Alfred kept himself out of the conversation between Father and son. The wagon soon came to a crossroads but there were no signs showing which way to go or where you even were.

“Where are the road signs?” he asked.

Mr Kirkland laughed aloud heartily, “They were taken down a few years ago to stop old Hitler from strolling into Buckingham Palace!”

Eventually they reached a long thatched cottage that was painted an icy white. The windows were old and the glass looked fragile and a pathetic barrier from the cold. Alfred noticed that the glass panes had tape crisscrossing each window, just like the windows in London. The cottage was surrounded by frosty fields of mud and any greenery that had once been now been turned over into arable pasture.

“ARTHUR!” screamed a short blonde whirlwind that tackled Arthur to the ground.

“Peter! Get off your brother,” a woman, Alfred presumed Mrs Kirkland, marched out of the building in a faded yellow dress with a white apron adorning her front. Her brown hair was stylishly curled and only slight frazzled from farm work. A stern looking elderly couple soon followed her out of the house, they appeared in a sense identical, both of them had steely blue eyes and sported conservative expressions. The two only differed in small subtle differences that could be missed in blurry vision; the lady wore a loose and drab brown dress and simple slippers whilst the gentleman wore simple, coal black trousers, an off white button-up shirt which was topped off by a long and fraying brown coat.

Arthur pushed Peter away and smiled at Alfred.

“Alfred, I would like to introduce you to my family,” and so Arthur waved his hand to the little boy, no more than ten years old the kid could not keep his legs still and so hopped on the spot. “This is my baby brother Peter.”

Alfred grinned and knelt down to shake his hand.

“Blimey a yank! Are you a cowboy or a gangster?” said Peter, now jumping up and down as if playing with a skipping rope.

“I live on a ranch so I think I am more suited to being a cowboy than a gangster.”

Before Peter could ask any more questions Arthur led Alfred over to his Mother and grandparents.

“This is my Mother, Elizabeth Kirkland.” Mrs Kirkland performed a mock curtsy. Alfred himself lifted his cap in greeting, “It’s nice to meet you Ma’m.”

Alfred could feel the knowledgeable words of his instruction manual haunt his mind as he was welcomed by the Kirkland family, _‘The British dislike bragging and showing off’_ and so Alfred held back his jokes and waited for Arthur to introduce him to everyone.

“And finally these are my grandparents, Grandfather Albert and Grandmamma Mary Kirkland, they’ve been here since my Father was a lad,” said Arthur.

Mrs Mary Kirkland smiled a pink, gummy grin and shook his hand wildly, “N’ver met a yank b’fore!” Whilst Mr Albert Kirkland maintained a stern face and shook Alfred’s hand with a strong grip before turning with his wife in hand, back inside the cottage.

“Don’t mind Grandfather, he doesn’t speak very much these days. He fought in the Boer War you see, I don’t know what he saw out there but he rarely says much,” said Arthur.

“Come in Alfred and I’ll make you a cup of tea,” said Mrs Kirkland.

 

\---

 

That night Alfred watched the snow lazily dance down from the heavens and onto the vast farmlands below. He sat with a lukewarm cup of tea in the Kirkland’s small living room beside a small fire and surrounded by Arthur’s relatives. Arthur himself sat beside him on the old exposed floorboards whilst Peter lay next to the Old English Sheep Dog, Wendy, opposite the fireplace. Outside the snow began to pile up, turning the farm and the fields into a glistening winter wonderland. Peter was looking gleefully at the snow and Alfred could already see his many ideas for his snowman constructions, as well as his snowball battle plans. Alfred got the sense that he and Arthur were going to be the main targets.

Alfred took a sip of his warm tea, he hated the taste but he didn’t want to insult his hosts and so stopped himself cringing with each sip. Instead he imagined himself drinking his Mom’s hot chocolate with gooey, melting marshmallows and crumbling cookies.

“Alright you boys it’s time to decorate! Alfred could you and Arthur put the tinsel on the tree please?” Mrs Kirkland asked. Alfred saluted her with a grin and took the box of stringy tinsel.

“Peter I need you to make some paper chains whilst I’ll get the baubles!”

And so began ‘Operation Decorate the Home with as much Tinsel as possible’.

Mr Kirkland senior and junior heaved the Christmas tree through the front door, carelessly spreading sharp pine needles across the floor, which consequently got the two grown men a scolding from old Mary Kirkland who threatened to whack her husband and son with her broom. Alfred, Arthur and Peter tried to stop themselves from giggling but just couldn’t control themselves.

Eventually the tree was standing, albeit lopsidedly, and was being dressed in gold tinsel and red and blue baubles. Peter brought in the angel he had made at school, the angel had yellow string for hair that hung down to her shoulders; her face was drawn in with coloured pencils like pretty pink for her lips and sky blue for her eyes. The rest of her body was a simple white paper and again finely scribbled in with coloured pencils and crayons; except for her wings which were two fine pure white feathers. Alfred’s fingers lightly played with the soft wings, which caught Peter’s attention.

“I had a hard time getting those you know! Those goose have teeth and poor Wendy was chased by two of them!”

“Its geese not goose Peter,” said Arthur.

Peter just stuck his tongue out and gave him a two finger ‘salute’.

“MUM! Peter just swore!”

“I didn’t!”

Another hour passed before the living-room was completely adorned in Christmas ornaments and decorations. Alfred had thought they had finished but Peter, Arthur and their Mother left the room, only to return with three framed photographs which they placed atop a small coffee table beside the tree; then the Kirkland family (and Alfred) surrounded the circle with their heads bowed. Mr Kirkland Senior stood forward and began to pray aloud:

“Dear God, we thank you for keeping our family safe and well during these uncertain times and as we celebrate the birth of your son, Jesus Christ, we pray for our boys who cannot be home with us, we pray that they may find shelter, warmth, happiness and kindness during this special time and that they will return home safe and sound…Amen.”

The pictures were of Peter and Arthur’s three older brothers. The picture in the middle was of Scott who was training to become a paratrooper in Scotland. The photograph was of him sitting on a pebbly beach in just his swimming trunks and a white top, holding a cigarette in his hand. The picture frame to his left was of their second eldest brother Connor. The young man in the photo was dressed in a fine suit, standing and shaking the hand of clergyman who was dressed in simple clothing. According to Arthur, Connor had converted to Catholicism and before the war had begun training to become a priest. He was now serving in the navy, no one knew whereabouts in the world he was now, but they hoped not at the bottom of the ocean. And finally there was Dai, he appeared frozen in time standing in his muddy shorts and striped shirt, he had mud across his face like war paint but he was smiling a toothy smile and hugging what appeared to Alfred like a American football. The family hadn’t heard from Dai for months, he had simply vanished.

Mrs Kirkland even had a picture of Arthur in the next room where the others had been just in case that he couldn’t make it home for Christmas. Alfred had a glimpse of it earlier. It was a charming picture of him, he wasn’t even looking at the camera rather he was reading a book and sitting on a deck chair on a pebbly beach, just like Scott’s picture.

The family retired to the dining room for a small and meagre dinner of leek soup.

“Alfred dear boy, how do you normally celebrate Christmas?” asked Mr Kirkland (Junior).

Alfred swallowed a mouthful of soup.

“Well sir my brother and I usually go shooting with our pa and grandpa; last year we stayed out for so long that me Mom had to call the sheriff out to look for us! He found us at the abandoned chapel four miles away, grandpa had fallen into an empty open grave!”

The Kirkland’s around the table all laughed.

“But normally we have some steak, yams and eggnog and just sit at the table and attempt to finish a thousand piece puzzle or beat my brother at chess; if we have some good weather we sometimes play baseball.”

Arthur clapped Alfred on the shoulder, “We used to do something like that to, back when we still lived in London, we’d eat our Christmas turkey and then play some football in the garden. I remember one year Dai was goalie and jumped so high to catch the ball but it landed in Mr McGregor’s garden, the ball had landed in his prize winning pumpkins! Scottie, Dai and I climbed the fence but Mr McGregor had come out with a pitchfork and was chasing us around his garden! W-we managed to climb back into garden but Scott fell on his arm and broke it!”

They carried on sharing tales until late into the night and eventually it was time for everyone to retire to bed. However, the cottage had no beds to spare for Alfred and Arthur and so Mrs Kirkland laid out a number of cushions and pillows beside the fireplace, plumped up with feathers, hair and hay.

“I’m sorry dears but I am afraid we have no more beds in the inn,” she joked as she placed a couple of old blankets atop of the makeshift mattresses.

“Can I stay down here too?” asked Peter.

“No!” said both his Mother and brother simultaneously.

“But I want to see Father Christmas come down the chimney!”

“No you have your own bed to sleep in and I won’t have a young little boy catching a cold sleeping on the floor, now get up those stairs,” said Mrs Kirkland, with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face; she would fit in perfectly with the strict and sour faced Drill Sergeants back at Alfred’s training camp.

Peter crossed his arms and stamped his feet but offered no other resistance and so frog marched up the rickety stairs to his room, Wendy trotting along behind him. Once Peter had retreated upstairs the two soldiers began to settle down underneath their blankets; but before they could lay down Mrs Kirkland bent down and kissed Arthur’s forehead goodnight.

“Mother?!” he spluttered, his cheeks turning a most delicious shade of red.

“Oh my sweet pea, I am just happy that your home for now, you too Alfred, I know that we’re not related by blood nor marriage but…” She couldn’t finish her sentence and she raised her hands to cover her leaking eyes.

“Thank you Ma’m and I appreciate your family’s generous hospitality.” She nodded her head weakly, “Oh dearie me look at me! I’m blubbering away and all you boys want to do is go to bed,” she rubbed her eyes manically, “Well I will see you in the morning. Goodnight,” and with that she hurried up the stairs.

 

___

 

Alfred and Arthur waited awhile before they moved any closer to one another. Alfred lay flat on his back with his sock adorned feet peering bravely out of the blankets. Arthur wore blue and white striped button up pyjamas whilst Alfred wore his boxer shorts and an old black tank top. Unfortunately, he had overestimated the Kirkland’s heating system, and though they had a fire it was not a roaring one but instead it was barely making a whisper and the old cottage seemed to rely completely on its walls to keep the cold out.

“Your cold aren’t you?” said Arthur, his voice slightly husky with sleep.

“I might be.” Arthur sighed and shuffled closer up to Alfred; he then wrapped his leg around Alfred’s and his arm across his chest, his fingers drumming to his heartbeat.

“Better?” Alfred just grinned and kissed the top of Arthur’s head, his bunny soft blonde hair tickling his nose.

He felt so damn fuzzy -

He felt so damn goofy -

He felt so damn happy.

Arthur laughed quietly into Alfred’s chest, his body shook with his giggling.

“Your such a sap you know!”

“Only for you doll,” Alfred whispered into his ear; he then gently took hold of Arthur’s chin so that he could look into his deep forest green eyes, “I love you.”

Those beautiful lush green eyes widened in surprise; they had both made an unspoken rule not to mention their love for one another aloud, in case they were overheard. A small smile began to appear from Arthur’s slightly chapped, pink lips.

“I love you too y-you yank,” he mumbled as a fresh blush crept up his freckled cheeks.

Their lips met in a sudden kiss. It was warm and tender and Alfred just couldn’t stop thinking how dreamy he felt! Touching, holding and kissing him sent a sweet tingle all the way down to his toes and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling giddily into the kiss. Whilst his arms itched to squeeze Arthur in a tight embrace. The kiss sank deeper, dragging them down into the hot and giddy depths where they couldn’t nor wouldn’t wish to escape. Hands began an expedition of exploration. Arthur’s hands soon tangled up with Alfred’s hair stroking and tugging; whilst Alfred’s had split up, one was cradling Arthur’s hot cheek and the other caressed the small of his back, a finger tickling the top of his rear.

“D-do you want to?” Alfred asked tentatively.

Arthur grinned and eagerly nodded his head, “Yes,” he said breathlessly.

As soon as that magic word was uttered Alfred dived down onto Arthur’s neck, kissing and nipping at the sweet pale skin whilst his hands tenderly groped the round, plump buttocks. Arthur groaned aloud after a particularly hard bite to the crook of his neck; his hands lurched forward, grasping onto the elastic of Alfred’s boxers.

“A little eager aren’t we,” said Alfred in the shell of Arthur’s ear, he even extenuated the ‘eager’ with a slight nibble of his earlobe.

Arthur lightly brushed his fingers across Alfred’s erection and smirked, “I could say the same for you.” He then pulled Alfred back down into another kiss, dragging him down under the waves as if like a siren in a lagoon. He wanted Alfred to see only me, to drown with him in this heat. Alfred then raised Arthur’s hips and rubbed against his swelling erection, which stood as proudly as the flag pole back at the barracks. Alfred’s large hands slid down to Arthur’s rear where his deft fingers began to explore the valley between the two cheeks. Alfred smirked and slid his entire body downwards where his face rested against Arthur’s pelvis, but instead of sucking on his erection he focused entirely on Arthur’s entrance where he slapped his tongue against it, his ears drinking in the moans and whimpers from Arthur up above. The broad licks sent spikes up Arthur’s spine and pleasure shot through him, making him grasp desperately at Alfred’s, hair as if it was his only lifeline from being swept away.

“A-Al-ffre-d –ah!” Arthur cried out as Alfred sneakily crept a finger into him that not so gently brushed against the bundle of nerves inside. Arthur moved his hands to the top of Alfred’s shoulders where he clawed red, streaks into his tanned skin. He groaned as Alfred pushed another two fingers into him, pushing against the ring of muscle. Alfred looked back to him.

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

Arthur pushed a finger against his lips, shushing him effortlessly, “All I want in this world is you,” he whispered.

With consent firmly given Alfred grasped his erection and guided it to Arthur’s weeping hole; he shivered as he felt the tip begin to push past the ring, even squirming and scrunching up his face in an attempt to ignore the stinging sensation. Alfred paused and looked down at him worryingly; but Arthur firmly nodded his head, giving him permission to continue. Eventually the stinging pain slipped away and was quickly replaced with searing hot pleasure that tingled and tickled pleasurably. Alfred kept his position for a few minutes so as to allow Arthur to adjust to his size and shape, and waited for Arthur’s signal; and with a swift nod of his head Alfred pulled almost all of the way out until just his head remained before thrusting back in, his tip punching those sweet spots inside of Arthur who cried out in ecstasy. With each of Alfred’s thrusts the closer they felt to heaven. Arthur desperately wanted to scream but instead, to avoid waking the entire village he bit down hard onto Alfred’s shoulder, not hard enough to start bleeding but at least to leave a sizeable mark for a day or two.

The pace and rhythm of each other’s thrusts had long gone, leaving the two to fall into desperation, both seeking that enticing climax where the stars glimmered in front of their eyes before darkness would immerse them. They were so close grunting and groaning together in unison, “A-a-a-lfred, I-I’m so c-close!” Arthur sobbed.

Alfred shakily nodded his head and linked their warm, sweaty foreheads together before rasping out, “Same here.” A few seconds later Arthur came violently, the white seed raining down atop his exposed stomach. Alfred came a moment later, his seed coating Arthur’s insides.

Before they could sink into a dreamless oblivion the two still had enough sense to clean themselves with Arthur’s handkerchief before spiriting it away under a pillow. They lay down together, no longer feeling cold like they had a little while before. Arthur reached over and kissed Alfred’s lips softly. “Goodnight,” said Arthur. “Goodnight,” said Alfred sleepily.

 

___

 

Arthur awoke a few hours later and groaned, it was early morning, probably approaching six o’clock. The fire had diminished to red ash overnight. Alfred was still asleep, his mouth wide open, a slither of drool escaping down from the corner of his mouth. Arthur glanced out of the window; the snow had stopped during the night but there was enough of it for Peter to make his snowman.

“I see your awake,” whispered his Mother, she was tiptoeing down the stairs with a sack of presents, although not as sizeable as the one’s before the war.

“He snores,” he said pointing at Alfred.

She muffled a chuckle with her palm and began placing the presents underneath the tree, again gone were the days of fancy fabrics and ribbons for wrapping, instead brown, parcel paper had become the popular (and only) choice.

“Have you got a present for him?” she asked.

“Sort of…”

Not long after placing the presents under the tree she patted the top of Arthur’s head lovingly, “Be prepared as I wouldn’t mind betting that Peter will be down those stairs in a flash, you probably have about another hour before then.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

She smiled and retired back up the stairs, her faded brown slippers moving silently across the usually creaking stairs, she had done this for so many years now that she knew which step made the most noise, even when she wasn’t in her own house. Once she had left Arthur snuggled up close to Alfred, his mouth was now closed and his arms had moved closer to his upper torso, his top having rolled up to his chest and exposing his abdomen whilst the blanket was wrapped securely around his legs. Suddenly Alfred’s arm wrapped themselves like snakes around Arthur’s waist before pulling him down atop of his chest.

“I’d rather not be hauled about like luggage, thank you very much,” said Arthur.

“But it’s so fun!” Alfred pulled Arthur’s face down to his and kissed him.

“PRESENTS!!!” Peter screamed as he flew down the stairs and into the living-room, the boy was still in his pyjamas which was a buttoned pale green shirt and trousers with white socks to protect his feet. Arthur hastily shoved himself off of Alfred and scooted as far away from him as possible.

Not long after Peter had stormed down the stairs Mr Kirkland (Junior) and his wife calmly came down the stairs to join their youngest son, although unlike their sons who were still in their nightclothes, the couple had managed to change into something more suitable. Alfred yawned and blearily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he then raised his arms above his head and stretched out his tired muscles.

“Why don’t you boys go upstairs and get changed, you can’t sit around in your pyjamas all day,” said Mr Kirkland Arthur nodded his head and led Alfred up the stairs into Peter’s room. The room had originally been his Grandmother’s sewing room, but now the small room had a hastily built bed and an old toy box from Father’s days as child. Peter wasn’t very interested in the toy box as it had rather old fashioned toys like red uniformed British Regulars instead of a Spitfire model. They shut the door and put the toy box up against it to prevent anyone else from snooping in, or in Peter’s case, barging in. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him into a hug, resting his chin on the top of Arthur’s head.

“Merry Christmas Arthur.”

“Merry Christmas Alfred.”

They embraced each other for a little longer before finally deciding to change into some more respectable clothes. Alfred decided to wear some old denim pants, they still smelt of the hay from the ranch and his Ma’s coffee, heck they even had an old coffee stain on them…at least he thought it was coffee. Arthur put on some black trousers that appeared to have been from his school days and a simple white shirt and green, woolly jumper.

“Hang on a second, I-I have something f-for you,” Arthur stuttered, his cheeks and ears turning a sweet and delicate pink.

Arthur then turned to his neglected bag and pulled out a slim, brown paper wrapped parcel which was tied together with sturdy white string. Before Alfred could say anything it was shoved into his hands.

“I know it’s not much but I thought you might find it useful – y-you don’t have to accept it if you don’t like it though.”

Alfred carefully unwrapped the parcel, making sure to not tear the paper, inside was a beautifully hand knitted pair of blue gloves and a blue scarf. Alfred looked up at Arthur who was doing his very best to look as reserved as possible, but his pink cheeks gave him away as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wrapped the scarf securely around his neck and marvelled at how soft the fabric was, he then slipped the gloves on and stretched his fingers out in front of his eyes.

“Thanks Artie, these are perfect!”

And with that he pulled him into another kiss and pushed him up against the wall where their tongues danced the jitterbug.

“Oh shit, hold on for a sec okay, I’ll just get you your present,” said Alfred, he then doubled back to his own bag where he pulled out a small box and handed it to Arthur.

“I tried to wrap it but err-it didn’t end well, but I hope you like it.”

Arthur opened the box and inside was a simple gold chain, Arthur delicately pulled the chain out of the box and fitted it around his neck, his eyes wide with shock and awe.

“My Grandpa gave it to me for good luck and I thought that you might l-like it.”

*

  _It was the day before he left home for training. The sun was out and melting the world below and no cloud dared to offer any shade. He had been sitting alone in the cool stables, staring into space with the encroaching war haunting his thoughts – guns, blood, mud, explosions – just like the stories that his Pa had told him about from the first war. Even the pictures of Pearl Harbour haunted his thoughts as he approached his departure. He was terrified and he could feel cold, wet tears attempt to escape from his eyes. His Grandpa had found him at that moment, he didn’t say anything he just patted him on the shoulder and offered the chain to him._

_“_ _This kept my Father safe in the Civil War and it protected yours in the last war. It works, I know it does. I want you to have it, so that when the next war comes you can give it to your own son to keep him safe. But I hope it never comes to that.”_

*

 “I-I can’t accept this Alfred, this means so much to you! It’s an heirloom!”

Alfred shook his, “No, I want you to have it, at least until the end of the war when we get to shoot Hitler up the ass! If you want, after that, you can return it to me, but right now I want you to keep it. It’s to keep you safe.”

Arthur nodded his head, his neck felt heavy and weary with burden, as if an albatross had been tied to his neck. The gift was well meaning and Alfred’s heart was in the right place but Arthur was scared and he did not just fear of losing the chain but…he was scared that the good luck that had protected Alfred so far in this goddamn war had now been stripped off Alfred and transferred to Arthur, leaving Alfred defenceless.

“T-thank you Alfred and I will keep it safe.” Arthur leaned up to kiss him softly, a sweet, warm, simple kiss, the gold chain winking lazily in the morning light, the sun just peaking above the horizon.

“Let’s head downstairs before they get suspicious,” said Arthur.

They walked back down to the living room where Peter was rampaging around the cramped room with a small wooden airplane above his head making ridiculous shooting noises.

“Oi! Peter! Do you want to build a snowman?” said Arthur.

“Yeah!” said Peter excitedly.

“Make sure you wear a coat!” cried out Mrs Kirkland from the kitchen.

Arthur and Peter ran out of the front door onto the pure white front lawn. Alfred was just about to go after them when a withered, shaking hand grasped a hold of his wrists.

“Mr American, who got you those gloves?” asked Arthur’s Grandmother, Mary.

“Oh Arthur made them for me as a Christmas present.”

She looked up at him in a quizzical manner and she had yet to release Alfred’s wrist.

“Well that’s funny, he should know not to give gloves as a present, it forewarns a parting you know.”

Alfred laughed nervously, “Well we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

She sighed but released her grip on his wrist allowing it to slip back to his side, “A new year means new challenges, I get the sense that the powers that be have got something in mind for 1944…”

Alfred nodded his head, “Err…”

“Well Merry Christmas me lad!” she said cheerily and she hobbled off to the kitchen.

Alfred ran outside and tackled Arthur to the ground, Peter cackled at the sight and began throwing snowballs at them.

“No offense but your Grandmother is scary.”

“Well she is a bit weird, she believes in Tarot cards and Mediumship.”

“Stop talking and start fighting! I thought you were soldiers!” screamed Peter.

“That’s it your going down!” shouted Alfred, running after the giggling boy, Arthur sat in the cold, melting snow, casually throwing snowballs at them both.

No one seemed to notice the teary eyed Grandmother that looked on from the window, her eyes hooded with sorrow but dark with the forbidden knowledge of the future, the young men outside playing cheerfully in the pure snow might as well be ghosts to her, their footprints dark with blood and tears that were yet to come.

 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry dazuru for taking so long with your Secret Santa, your prompts gave me so many ideas that it took me a while to figure out what to write :S   
> Anyway I hope you like this and I am sorry if this is not what you wished for. 
> 
> If anyone is interested to see a possible ending just leave a comment and I will share my ideas for a possible ending, but for now I want to leave it a open, sort of foreshadowing, ending.
> 
> This has been completely un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine, but please point them out to me and I will fix them. 
> 
> Original Prompts: 
> 
> 1\. unwrapping each other’s christmas gifts
> 
> 2\. decorating christmas tree or putting up christmas decorations in general
> 
> 3\. drinking hot beverages (tea, hot chocolate, coffee, etc..) next to a fireplace (it’d be nice if you related it to christmas in some way but it’s okay if you don’t ^^)
> 
> (I am sorry if it got a bit dark towards the end but its kind of my specialty)
> 
> Oh in case any of you were wondering you can read Alfred's instruction booklet here: http://www.hardscrabblefarm.com/ww2/britain.htm


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